Our Christmas Present
by august-waters
Summary: Sherlock and John find a baby on their doorstep just before Christmas, that is the spitting image of Sherlock himself. To find the mother, and watch Hamish grow up, John and Sherlock must grow in their newfound love as well. Parentlock. John x Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

There was a small snowfall in London on the night of December 16th 2013. The blanket of snow was just beginning to cover the cobblestone pavement, and the colored lights of the diner next door lit the white with red, blue, and green. It was just beginning to feel like Christmas on Baker Street.

"It's like our very own Harry Potter story."

Sherlock looked at John as if he had grown another head. It was worse than that. There was a child on their doorstep, what were they supposed to do with a child? Raise it? John had already picked up the child and cradled him in his own arms; they had just embarked on the journey of their own relationship, and a child? Was this some kind of sick joke? Sherlock took a breath and began analyzing the child itself. It had the brightest blue eyes, and a skin as light as porcelain, the little bits of hair that he had we're growing in black, and his jaw line was high on his face even for a baby.

"There's a note." John had interrupted his thought process.

"What?"

"There's a note Sherlock." He slowed his words, enunciating each sound.

_Name him. He's yours now. I don't want him. I can't take care of him. _

"Uhm, Sherlock, he looks just like you."

"What?"

"You know for a consulting detective, you're awfully slow." John was joking around, but Sherlock was at a loss for words. He could, as John put it "outlive God in trying to get the last word," but it was true, this child looked exceptionally like him.

"Have you ever…? You know?"

"No. God no. I…"

John had begun rocking the child back and forth, bringing him into the warmth of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock following him, shutting the door, still not able to decide how he felt about this. 'How could the child be his? It had to be his, but how?'

"What should we call him?"

"Huh?"

"Seriously Sherlock, what should we call him?"

"You're not serious!" They couldn't keep the child, they had no idea where he came from, or what the motive of the person who left the child had been.

"Stop analyzing this Sherlock. It's a baby, a living breathing human. Here hold him."

John had sat Sherlock down on their couch positioning his arms in the correct placement for holding a newborn baby, and then placed him lovingly in his partner's arms. Sherlock looked down at the being in his arms. The baby was the spitting image of himself as a newborn, he sighed and tried to put on a little smile for the baby, who giggled and waved his arms at Sherlock. Something swelled inside him, it felt the same as the first time that he and John had shared their first kiss, or when they had decided to move into the same room, but it was different, and something changed inside him.

"We should call him 'Hamish.'"

"Hamish?"

"Yes, John. Hamish. I'm not sure that I am the one that is slow in this situation."

John looked confused, and then set himself down next to Sherlock, letting the baby take his pinky in his little hand. "Are you sure we should name him that?"

"Well, when Adler had been here, you had made the joke that we should name our firstborn 'Hamish.' It's not a bad name, I quite like it."

"I had been joking but…"

"But?"

"I like Hamish, he looks like a Hamish." Sherlock smiled, pressed a kiss to John's temple and then looked back to the baby, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. Hamish looked as if he wanted to stay awake and take in everything around him, but his eyes fluttered shut and his thumb went into his mouth as he shifted into a sleep state.

"We have to go and get supplies tomorrow. We can move him into my old room. For now, he'll have to sleep on the armchair in our room, at least until we can buy a crib."

"That sounds good." Sherlock himself was beginning to grow tired, which nearly never happened, he yawned and got up from the sofa bringing Hamish who was still nestled into the crook of his arm. John followed him to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

In the dim light of their bedroom, Sherlock transferred the baby into John, who had already laid a bed that the baby could not fall from, in the chair that sat in the corner of the room. Sherlock had begun to strip to his boxers when he felt a pair of arms snake around him, and a kiss press to his shoulder, then his neck. "You're actually quite good with him."

Sherlock managed to spin himself around in John's arms and wrap his own around his lover's neck while kissing his forehead, then lips. "So are you."

"Well, I'm a doctor." Sherlock laughed a little, then untangled himself from John to put on a shirt. Sherlock snuggled under the covers waiting for John to join him, when John kissed Hamish's forehead, whispering so that Sherlock could barely hear, "Goodnight, Hamish Watson-Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

A tinkling cry woke the couple at the ungodly time of four thirty in the morning. Sherlock cussed and removed his hands from John's waist before looking at the baby wailing in the chair. "John," he whispered shaking him. "John!"

"What? What!" John looked flustered and panicked. "What's going on?" Then realizing where he was, John looked to the baby as well, and removed the covers so that he could grab the baby, and bring him back to the bed with them. He put his legs under the cover and maneuvered himself into Sherlock who had been waiting for him in the bed. "I don't think that he's hungry, but we're going to have to pick up some milk eventually, and nappies, and a crib…" John went on and on, but it went right over Sherlock's head. He was looking at Hamish, not analyzing, just looking. Hamish let out a little cry. "Shhh," John cooed, "Daddy's here." Sherlock, again, looked at John as if he had some sort of other limb on his face.

"How is he going to differentiate? Between us?"

"Well, we could just both be 'Dad.'" Sherlock cringed.

"I would much rather be called 'Sherlock.'"

"Really?" Sherlock nodded at John, "Well, then that's how he is going to differentiate, now isn't it." There was a moment of silence that passed between the three of them. It was clear that Sherlock wasn't too keen on the idea of having a son yet, but John knew that he would come around eventually; it was only a matter of time. Besides, he had seen something change in Sherlock's eye last night when he had first held the boy in his arms. It was Sherlock's child, there was no doubt about it, and eventually Sherlock would come to accept that he was the father too.

"It's too cold in here Sherlock."

"What do you mean?" They had always kept the flats at Baker Street at a solid temperature, ever since John had moved in. This had been the reason that he always wore jumpers.

"He's cold. His nose is freezing Sherlock."

"Well, it's winter."

"Well, he's a baby!" John protested, and then sighed. " Could you _please_ turn up the heat in the flat?" He looked at Sherlock, his eyes big and using his shorter height to the advantage. Sherlock grumbled a reply and then got up from the bed, his bare feet sliding slightly on the cold, hardwood floor.

When Sherlock had returned to the bedroom, John was already dressed in a jumper and jeans, and was pulling his socks on. Hamish was wrapped in a blanket on the bed, sucking his thumb and taking in his surroundings. Sherlock, his hands locked behind his back, looked at the baby again. "You can hold him, you know." John had been watching him.

Instead of picking up the baby, Sherlock asked, "Why are you getting dressed? It's five o'clock in the morning."

"I know, but we need milk, and nappies."

"Well, can't you get it in a little bit?"

"Sherlock…" Sherlock knew that John should go now.

"Okay."

"You'll be okay with him here?"

"I thought you were taking him." Sherlock sat down on the bed.

"Sherlock, he has just the one blanket and jumper wrapped around him, I'll be back in a little bit. I texted Sarah, I took the day off."

"Fine."

"I'll be back soon." He kissed Sherlock's lips passionately, then wiggled his eyebrows pulling away foreshadowing a session that they would have later. Sherlock heard the front door slam, and automatically turned his eyes to Hamish again. The baby was looking up at him curiously, as he if he were analyzing Sherlock instead of the other way around. He cooed, reaching his arms up as if he wanted to be held."

The consulting detective sighed and cradled the baby in his arms, bringing him into the living room where it was warmer. This baby was making him soft, and he had only been there a few hours.

John was thinking the same thing that Sherlock had been the night before. The baby was Sherlock's. There was no doubt about this. He had seen pictures of his lover as a baby, and it was close to identical to the baby that had been left on their stoop. Sherlock had returned only six months ago from his two yearlong journey to the dead and back. It hadn't taken John a long time to forgive his best friend. He had punched him in the face of course, avoiding the nose once again. But in the time that he had been away from Sherlock, he had realized the feelings that he had bottled up inside himself, and the urges that he did not want to show for his flatmate. It had been insanely difficult without Sherlock. He had gone back to his therapist, and had contracted a real psychosomatic limp, as well as an intermittent tremor in his left hand due to stress. He had cut back on the hours that he worked at the surgery, and lost any girlfriend that he could have possibly had within a three-week time span.

Mrs. Hudson had been helpful. She became a mother, landlady, and a housekeeper regardless of her constant protesting that she was not. She had tucked John in at night and slept on the couch in the living room while John slept in Sherlock's room. Every morning when he had woken up, there was a cup of warm tea on the bedside table. She would schedule his sessions with his therapist and invite her to the flat when he refused to get out of bed. She became his mum. Harry had come over a couple of times, but sobering up, she was bitter and was often ushered out by Mrs. Hudson.

It seemed that Mycroft had disappeared off of the face of the earth at this time. He had been to Sherlock's funeral, but that was it. In visiting his best friend's grave every day, for two years, John hadn't seen his brother once. John had often wondered if during that time, if Mycroft had kept watch on him. He probably hadn't, there hadn't been any immediate danger because Sherlock had been assumed dead, but it had been Mycroft that called him from work when Sherlock had returned.

He had run into the flat expecting an emergency, probably something wrong with Mrs. Hudson, but found Sherlock in his chair, and Mycroft standing by the window, with his grumpy thinking face.

"Mycroft?" He had asked, "Who is that? He shouldn't be there. That's Sherlock's chair."

And in response, Sherlock had just said, "John," and began playing his violin. He should have known, but it was simply too good to be true at that point, and he fainted, blacking out and thinking it was all a dream when he woke up to look at the ceiling that he had looked at by himself for the two years beforehand. But nonetheless, there he had been, sitting in the armchair watching him with his violin in hand.

"Where have you been?" To say that Sherlock had been a bit cross with John was a slight understatement.

"Out."

"I know." Sherlock had taken a bit more interest in John's affairs considering that he had been quite oblivious to his leaving before he had disappeared for the two years.

"You could help me you know." John was carrying a load of boxes, with the help of the cabbie up into the flat. He dropped some of the grocery bags onto the floor, and left the boxes piled up by the stairs. John, surprisingly, found Sherlock in the living room with Hamish in his arms; Hamish was just now beginning to wake for good. "Oh." John smiled, looking at his two boys. It was strange how attached John had become to the boy that he was not even related to, in just a few hours.

"What?" Sherlock gave that confused look that resembled what a normal person would identify as taken aback.

"Nothing." John smiled and pushed the rest of the boxes onto the stairs, and came over to the chair and kissed him on the forehead. It was a strange picture to see Sherlock, a man who pretended he wasn't human. At this moment, Hamish began to wail.

"He's probably hungry. I'll take him." John lifted the crying baby into his arms, and Sherlock stretched his own arms out and followed John into the kitchen.

"We don't have any milk."

"Yes we do." John pulled out a bottle from the bag and a jug of milk that he had just bought. "Can you pour some into the bottle and stick it in the microwave?"

"But my thumbs are in the microwave!"

"Sherlock!"

"Fine…" Sherlock grumbled and removed the jar of thumbs from the microwave and put the bottle in, letting the milk spin until it was warmed through.

"You need to flick some of it on your wrist before we can give it to him." Sherlock looked confused. "Give it to me." He handed Sherlock the baby as he took the bottle and flicked a bit of milk onto his wrist testing that it wasn't too hot and wouldn't burn Hamish.

He took the baby back into his own arms and put the nozzle into his mouth, letting him suck on the bottle until it was nearly empty. Hamish giggled and snuggled himself more into John's jumper. He giggled and yawned, letting his eyes flutter close another time in the day.

Sherlock put his hands on John's hips letting his chin rest on John's shoulders. "You're so good with him." There was a hint of jealousy in his voice. John yawned and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, letting his lips drift closer and closer to his partner's until their lips locked in a tight embrace.

They moved into the living room, Sherlock sitting on his armchair and John putting Hamish onto the sofa before gravitating towards his own assigned seat, when Sherlock motioned for him to sit in his chair with him. John complied, sitting on his partners lap like a child, letting his head rest into Sherlock's chest, and yawning again closed his eyes. Sherlock's arms snaked around the soldier protectively, and he too closed his eyes, drifting into oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock woke to find nothing different. John was still on his lap, his hand draped over Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock attempted to squeeze around John's sleeping form, but his partner only clutched him tighter. "John." Sherlock whispered. "John!" He attempted to wiggle out of the grip again, doing nothing once more. He nipped at John's ear lovingly, "John."

"Hmm?"

John snuggled into Sherlock, letting his head slip into the crook of Sherlock's neck, eyes still closed. "John." Sherlock whined. John's lips slipped up into a smirk, and curled his legs up around his partner. "Jooooohn."

A small breath escaped from Hamish, causing both Sherlock and John to look his way, but he yawned in his sleep and turned away from the couple. They looked toward one another, just as if it were a scene from a movie. Laughing silently John pressed his lips on Sherlock's bringing his arms around his neck pulling him closer. He was sitting with his knees on his own chest, slightly falling off of Sherlock's lap. The consulting criminal however took this to his advantage, slipping his arm around John's waist and the other under John's legs, like a fireman's carry. John pulled away laughing, "Sherlock," he attempted to scold. Sherlock was now standing, parading John around their living room, as if he were some prize to be won. "Put me down." John was still laughing, Sherlock shaking his head at his request.

"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson's footsteps could be heard trotting up the steps.

"Sherlock. Put. Me. Down." John demanded, not wanting his landlady to see him wrapped up in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock agreed but didn't take his hands from John's waist, wrapping him in a hug from behind, with his head resting on the soldier's shoulder.

"Oh? Who's this?" Mrs. Hudson asked, noticing the sleeping figure on the sofa.

"Hamish." John said, trying to wriggle free from Sherlock's grip, no matter how much he enjoyed it.

"Oh, well isn't he a little darling. Ehm, where did he come from?"

"We don't know."

"Well, who's the mum?"

"We don't know…"

"He looks an awful lot like Sherlock doesn't he?"

"He does, doesn't he…" Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John took this opportunity to stroke his partner's cleanly shaven face, and give him a small peck on the cheek.

"Well, he's very handsome." Mrs. Hudson cooed. She was kneeling in front of the baby. John snuck in another kiss as Sherlock watched Mrs. Hudson intently. She stroked the curly hairs from his face. "Your restaurant called, they want to confirm your reservation." Mrs. Hudson was talking specifically to John.

"Reservation?" Sherlock asked, looking at John.

"Oh, yeah. I booked us a table at Angelo's, but I guess we can't go now." He said looking at Hamish.

"Well, I could pose as a nanny." Mrs. Hudson suggested.

"Oh, we couldn't let you do that Mrs. Hudson." John insisted, not wanting to impose on the elderly woman.

"Oh, I've always wanted to be a grandmother." Mrs. Hudson was still on her knees, she had clasped her hands together as if she were begging to let them watch Hamish. "Please?"

"Just let her watch him." Sherlock whispered into John's ear, snuggling into John's back.

"Are you sure that it's not a problem Mrs. Hudson?"

"Of course not! I want to do it." And with that she snatched up the sleeping baby in her arms, bringing him down the stairs into her flat where it was warmer.

"Well, I guess we better get ready to go."

* * *

Sherlock was standing in front of the mirror fixing the collar of his purple shirt; the one that he knew was John's favorite. John, with just a towel wrapped around his bottom half, and a towel around his neck strode into the room drying his hair.

"I love that shirt you know."

"I know."

"How did you know?" John asked, recalling that he had never actually stated that this was the shirt that he loved best on Sherlock.

"I can deduce."

"Sherlock. Just tell me."

"Well, it's not hard to deduce, considering the way you ripped it off my chest the last time that I wore it."

"Oh, shut up." John removed the towel, and slipped into his pants, then pulling on his jeans, never escaping Sherlock's gaze in the reflection. The consulting detective swept around the bed, again wrapping his arms around his lover. "You are clingy today aren't you?" He wasn't complaining, just observing.

"Not a difficult deduction…clingy?"

"Yes clingy. Can I put my shirt on now?"

"No? I much prefer you without it."

"Sherlock. Not now. The cabbie is waiting outside."

"Well, it's not my fault that you walked in without a shirt and trousers, now is it?" Sherlock began to kiss up John's shoulder and onto his neck.

"Stop it Sherlock," John laughed pushing his arms away, unlocking his partner's tight grip and pulling the button down around him.

"Why aren't you wearing a jumper?"

"It's a nice restaurant."

"So? You've worn your jumper to Angelo's before."

"Sherlock…"

"Fine. Let's go."

* * *

"Oh look, there's a candle on the table."

"He's being friendly. He knows we're a couple."

"How does he know that?"

"How do you think he knows Sherlock?" John had obviously told Angelo that they were together now, nothing against their relationship; Sherlock had been uncomfortable in telling even Mrs. Hudson of their sexual partnership.

John took Sherlock's hand tracing his thumb over his significant other's fingers. Sherlock's hand was rigid in John's however; Sherlock did not enjoy public displays of affection. But John did not pull his hand away, and instead let Sherlock's hand rest in his while they scanned through the menu.

"What are we going to do about Hamish?" Sherlock put his menu down and looked directly at John.

"Can we talk about this later?"

"What are we going to do about Hamish?" Sherlock repeated, still looking at his partner who hadn't looked up to meet his gaze.

"Sherlock." John said, finally looking up. "I have not eaten all day. Can we talk about this during dinner?"

Sherlock obliged, picking his menu back up and covering his face with it. They ordered, without any more small talk, and waited for the food in silence, neither sure of what to say to the other, letting the growling of John's stomach fill the awkward.

John's pasta with red sauce was placed on the table with Sherlock's salad next to it. Sherlock stabbed a piece of pasta from John's plate and put it in his mouth. John laughed as Sherlock slurped the pasta into his mouth leaving a trail of red sauce next to his lips. Sherlock thought he might lighten the mood and break into a little jig, but instead a smile appeared as he wiped the stains away from his mouth. For some reason he couldn't read John as well as he had been able to before. He looked at the laugh lines on his lover's face, the dapper smile that could brighten a room. He could no longer tell what he was thinking.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just looking at…nothing."

"Sherlock, just tell me."

"You." John blushed. It wasn't like Sherlock to compliment in such a blunt way.

"Stop it." John's phone beeped next to them. "It's Mrs. Hudson."

"What does she want?"

"She says to stay out as long as we like."

"What about Hamish?"

"I think she's quite keen on him."

"So are you."

"Yes?"

"You are keen on him too."

"Yes, I know. He's kind of our son now, Sherlock."

"But…"

"There are no buts Sherlock. Hamish is our son. He's your son."

"How do you know?"

"Sherlock, I've seen your baby pictures. He looks just like you, and it's definitely not Mycroft. Who was the lucky lady?"

"I didn't. I never."

"I know. I was kidding, but how could this have happened?" Sherlock was lying, obviously. He just didn't want to accept that there was someone other than him that had been with Sherlock.

"Where is he going to sleep? What are we going to do with him? We have cases John. We can't keep a baby."

"We can. We will. It will be okay." John squeezed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock exhaled. _It will be okay_, John had said. Sherlock wasn't sure. "C'mon, let's go home." John suggested, signaling for Angelo to come and pack up their food.

"What? Already?"

"Yeah, I'm sure we can sneak upstairs without Mrs. Hudson noticing. Not sure she'll want to know what's going on anyways, no matter how much she loves our relationship." Sherlock smirked and agreed by pulling on his coat.

* * *

_hello you lovely chickadees!_

_i hope, from the story alerts and favorites that you all are enjoying this story. sherlock x john is my otp. i love them so much, and i am envisioning asa butterfield as the son. the story will unravel as Hamish grows up. Right now, I am leaving him as a baby, but as time goes on, I will start jumping his age, otherwise this story would go on forever! i was going to say more here, but then i forgot. please review! i would love to hear from you guys, it makes my day!_

_cheers! and happy reading!_

_Kat_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Shots were fired from behind. He ducked his head, his helmet covering his face. Blood spattered his uniform as the man next to him fell. He looked to see the dark brown curls in the dirt beside him, blood creating a puddle behind the icy, blue eyes that would no longer blink. Tears were running down his own face, dripping onto the face of the man of the angels. He slammed his fists into the ground letting his head rest on the chest of his lover, thinking that he would never feel his heart beat, or the his hands brush his own-

* * *

John shot up in bed, his entire body shaking. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked around the room. There was an empty spot where Sherlock should've been. He unraveled himself from the blanket that had somehow tangled its way into his legs during his nightmare.

"Sherlock?" John called into the darkness twiddling down the dark hallway down the hallway and into the kitchen where there was the dim glow of the hanging lights coming through the window. "Sherlock?"

John found Sherlock sitting in just his dark red robe in the kitchen rocking Hamish back and forth in his arms, not noticing that his partner had even come into the room. It gave him a bubbly feeling in his stomach, erasing all notions of the past dreams. John snuck around the kitchen locking his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissing the curls on top of his head. "Good morning John."

"What time is it?" John pulled into the chair next to Sherlock and kissed Hamish's head as well.

"Five-ish." Sherlock moved his eyes from the figure in his arms to look at John. "John. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"John." Sherlock had noticed the sweat dripping down the forehead, and the way that John had been clutching his shirt when he had first woken up to calm Hamish. He noticed the way that John's eyes had been squeezed shut, not in a calm way and how he had thrashed in the middle of the night, swiping at him on multiple occasions.

"It's nothing Sherlock. It's…nothing." He clutched Sherlock's hand in his own squeezing it, making sure that Sherlock was real. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled.

"Okay John." Sherlock squeezed John's hand back and then looked back down at Hamish, who stared back at him with his own bright blue eyes that mirrored his own. "Mrs. Hudson tucked him in this morning, considering we forgot to pick him up last night." Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows. John laughed shaking his head; needless to say, the purple shirt was littered across the floor in the living room.

"We have to set up Hamish's room today." John said eyeing all of the boxes sitting by the stairwell.

"But…"

"No buts Sherlock."

"But…" There were footsteps coming up the stairs. John stood waiting for the intruder to show his face.

"Sherlock. We have a-. Who's this?" Lestrade stood in the doorway to the kitchen wearing his Scotland Yard jacket but loose pajama bottoms.

"Hamish."

"Who's Hamish?"

"The baby Lestrade, the baby."

"Sherlock I know, but…"

"Ladies, please." John cut in. "Why are you here at five o'clock in the morning?"

"He's back. Moriarty. He's back. He's…he's…" It seemed as if Lestrade didn't know how to finish this statement.

"I know he's back." John and Lestrade looked directly at Sherlock awestricken. Sherlock still holding Hamish got up and moved the party into the living room.

"What do you mean? You know he's back. You knew he would come back?" Lestrade's words were far apart as if he were trying to grasp the situation at hand. John, on the other end of the spectrum, seemed calmly trying to understand what was happening and instead took Hamish from Sherlock to burp him and sat down on the sofa without a word.

"Think about it Lestrade."

"Damn it Sherlock, just tell me how you know. I don't need your games at this moment. It's five o'clock, I shouldn't be on duty, I just want to be sleeping and now there are lives at stake because this lunatic is back."

"You know why I died Lestrade. To protect you, and John, and Mrs. Hudson; you don't think that if I could fake my own death, that Moriarty couldn't have done the same?"

Lestrade thought on this and then sighed settling into one of the armchairs putting his head in his hands.

"How did you guys know?" John spoke up.

"A letter came to Scotland Yard. It had that red seal, you know the one that was on those letters before…" Lestrade didn't want to recall those moments. He'd done very well in psychotherapy after Sherlock had disappeared. "On a lighter note, uh…" Lestrade looked over at the baby in John's arms. "He looks just like Sherlock."

"We know."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious." Sherlock had picked up yesterday's newspaper and began flicking through it.

"Hamish? John? Isn't that your middle name?"

"Yep. Sherlock picked it out."

"Really?" Lestrade seemed genuinely surprised at him, and John laughed as Sherlock glowered at the detective inspector. "He looks to be just about the age of my Kieran." Kieran was Lestrade's first son and second child with his wife.

"He probably is, but we're not exactly sure…"

"What do you mean, you're not sure?"

"He may or may not have been left on our stoop."

"Like Harry Potter! Oh, that's brilliant."

"C'mon Hamish. Let's say hello to Uncle Greg."

"Uncle Greg?" Sherlock looked over his newspaper.

"Hello Hamish." Lestrade cooed as John transferred the baby into his arms.

"Yes, and I'm the one that is called the lady around here." Sherlock drawled on sarcastically. John and Greg laughed, Greg rocking Hamish slightly in his arms.

"C'mon Sherlock. We have to start setting up Hamish's room." John said trying to pull Sherlock up from his armchair.

"And I'd better get back to the office. It's a mad house around there." Lestrade interjected handing Hamish off to John, before sprinting out of the room and down the stairs.

"C'mon, we can set him on a blanket upstairs." Let's go. John left the room and up the stairs. Sherlock right on his heels.

* * *

_Chickadees!_

_I love that people are favoriting this and whatnot with their story alerts. As the anonymous reviewer pointed out, I may have called Sherlock the consulting criminal in the last chapter, and that was wrong. He isn't the consulting criminal; he's still a detective. Just me being a derp. Thank you for your support in reading this story! I'm hoping to update at least twice a week, and this is me procrastinating right now, so I wrote another chapter. This isn't my best chapter. I have writer's block, and I'm trying to get over it. I promise to have more Sherlock x John in the next chapter. Then I'm going to try to do Christmas then have Hamish age._

_Goodbye! Kat._

_PS I am aware that these chapters have been starting off with one of both of them waking up, I'll stop that. Maybe, I don't know._


	5. Chapter 5

Hamish was lying on his back on the floor of John's old room, with a rattle in hand. John was sitting next to the small boy, watching over him as he assembled pieces of the crib together. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, was complaining.

"Where did you even get all this stuff?" John didn't answer.

"Where are you going to put all this stuff?" John didn't answer.

"What are you doing?" John didn't answer.

"Can this stuff even fit in here?" John turned around.

"You tell me Sherlock," John glared at him, "You tell me…"

Sherlock shrunk back, sensing John's annoyance with him. He had become much more aware of John's feelings towards him since they had become romantically involved. John turned around, returning to his work, and Sherlock crawled on his knees over to where Hamish was grabbing towards a light on the ceiling. Sherlock lifted his hand over the baby's face, and Hamish grabbed it, pulling it down, his small hands only able to clutch the index finger. Hamish suckled the detective's finger, and Sherlock not knowing what to do, sat back on his knees, his eyes scanning the small figure.

John swept his eyes over his shoulder, stopping his gaze on his partner. It was an odd sight. The detective was sitting on his calves, his feet tucked under his bum. His finger was slipped between the hands of the small child, who was absorbed in attempting to dominate the hand of the older man. The eyes of the father and child met in fleeting glances. It seemed as if time stopped each time their blue eyes brushed each other. It was normally impossible to read Sherlock's mind, but it seemed that in these moments, it was difficult for Sherlock to know what was going on in his own head.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes flitted back up to meet John's, there was confusion in his own eyes.

"Can you help me with this?" John was struggling with pulling pieces of the crib from the box. The box being about the height of the doctor probably didn't help in trying to extract the pieces easily.

Sherlock got up carefully, sliding his finger from Hamish's grasp and pushed himself up onto his toes. Hamish scrunched up his face, as if he were going to cry, but instead was quickly mesmerized by the light on the ceiling once again, reaching for it.

"We should get him a mobile." Sherlock had joined John standing up and was pulling the metal bars out with ease, causing John to look on with a bit of jealousy, as well as awe as Sherlock's arm muscles flexed as he bent over lifting each piece from the box.

"I have one somewhere here…" John had to pull himself away to try and navigate through the sea of boxes. "I don't know where it is…" John put his hands on his hips, frustrated.

"Erm. I don't know how to put this together." Sherlock was standing helplessly, with the bars in his hands.

"The instructions are on the floor." John was still searching through the various bags that sat on the floor.

Sherlock sat on the floor with the instructions in one hand, and the pieces in the other, as John diverted his attention to Hamish, slipping out of his jumper and wrapping it around the baby who seemed to be turning blue even though the flat was significantly warmer than it had been since John had lived in 221B.

"I'm going to get a takeaway. Thai food?"

"Mmmm." Sherlock was gnawing on his lip, attempting to figure out the instructions, ignoring John's question.

John, knowing what Sherlock would want had he actually answered the question, coddling the jumper-wrapped Hamish in his arms, left the room.

* * *

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock!"

"SHERLOCK!"

John was shouting up the stairs, turning back towards a sleeping Hamish every time to ensure that he wouldn't wake the napping baby. He waited for a response before trudging up the stairs to find Sherlock still struggling with the pieces of the crib.

John leaned against the doorframe. "Sherlock." No response.

"Sherlock…" John moved towards Sherlock, kneeling next to him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock…" John attempted to pester his boyfriend to no avail. John sighed, and turned away, then in a last attempt, leaned his face in front of Sherlock's latching their lips together, pulling his legs over the detective's to straddle him and forbid him from connecting the two pieces.

John let his hands slip into Sherlock's curly locks, using his temporary height advantage to push Sherlock back, and the detective letting the pieces clatter to the ground, wrapped his arms around John pulling him even closer.

Their lips moved in unison, as Sherlock moved his hands from John's waist, up his arms, feeling his soldier biceps, and John let his fingers slip behind Sherlock's ears to pull him closer.

Sherlock detached his lips from John's. He pecked down his partner's jaw line, towards his neck, John slipping his hands towards the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. John had just begun to slip the buttons loose when-

"Boys! There's been another one!"

_Hello Everyone._

_Okay, I know. I'm a horrible person. I said in the last chapter that I was going to update twice a week, and then I didn't for two weeks+. I had no idea what I was doing, and then I gave you this chapter. It's not my best work, but I did need a segway for the new section of the story. Also, I want some feedback, I do want to know whether you would like this to advance at this pace, where the entire story takes place as Hamish as an infant, or if you want me to start progressing his age faster, or whether I should just make this a really really long story. I don't know, but you guys should help me figure it out._

_Thanks for reading!_

_Kat_


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was pacing. John was watching.

"Ms. Howe, Can you tell us exactly what you saw?"

Leslie Howe was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She wore her chestnut hair in a short pixie-cut that stopped just about her chin. Her blue eyes were enhanced by a massive amount of brown eyeliner and gold flecked eye shadow. She wore a clear amount of makeup on the rest of her porcelain face, but sitting in John and Sherlock's living room, she seemed to shrink back. The color had been drained from her face, making her rosy blush from the cold seem out of place.

"Sherlock. Sit down." John couldn't concentrate, and apparently neither could Sherlock, who was now fiddling with the skull. John put his face in his hands.

"Sherlock. Sit. Down." Sherlock turned to look at John, somewhat appalled, but obliged, sitting across from Ms. Howe. "Now, Leslie, can you tell us what happened?" John's had turned towards the woman in distress, and was now leaning with his elbows resting on his knees. Sherlock looked at John, but said nothing.

"I… I…"

"What? What? Spit it out woman." Sherlock was standing again.

"Sherlock! Downstairs Now." John wasn't shouting, but his soldier had come out to send the detective away. Sherlock, now slightly angry, but not willing to get into an argument with John over the simplest of cases, trudged down the stairs to get Hamish from Mrs. Hudson.

"It's over already?"

"No."

Sherlock sat down at the round table in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, taking Hamish from her arms, and holding him over his own shoulder.

"Sherlock…"

"Don't condescend Mrs. Hudson. I got enough of it from John." Sherlock rose from the table. "I'm going out."

"You're taking Hamish?"

"Yeah."

"He needs a jacket Sherlock."

"But I can't go up-."

"I think I have one." Mrs. Hudson fiddled through some boxes she had stacked in the corner. "I always wanted a grandson."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you are a lifesaver."

Sherlock wrapped Hamish up, snuggling him in the jacket. "I'll be back soon. Don't wait up."

* * *

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Mrs, Hudson? Anyone? Hello?" John fumbled his way through the main foyer, shivering, after having let Ms. Lowe out the front door.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, it's a bit peaky in here, innit?" Mrs. Hudson had come to meet John at the front door of her own flat. She let John through the door and went to the thermostat, raising the heat.

"Do you know where Sherlock went?"

"Yeah, he just popped out while you were upstairs. Care for a cuppa?"

"Yes, please." John paused. "Where's Hamish?"

"Oh, Sherlock took him. I don't know where they've gone. I suspect they'll be back soon. You were upstairs for a long time."

"Yeah. Wait sorry, you said he took Hamish with him?"

"Yeah."

"Right…" John pursed his lips. "How about that tea then." John thought about Sherlock and Hamish. The mental image put a smile on his face. _His _two men. It was silly to think of Hamish as his own son, but at his time, he couldn't think of him any other way.

"Not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson winked, putting the kettle on.

* * *

"Sherlock, where have you been?" John faked anger.

"Sh. He's sleeping."

Sherlock took the steps two at a time, racing into their apartment, and into their own bedroom. John followed him, watching as he nested Hamish in the blankets and then turned around pushing them both out the door. Sherlock ruffled up John, pushing him against the wall, doing what only the most gracious person would call kissing.

"Sherlock." Sherlock slipped his hand into the back pocket of John's jeans, pulling him closer. "Sherlock!" John struggled to speak as Sherlock pecked kisses down towards John's neckline. "Sherlock, the case."

"Ah, yes the case." Sherlock pulled away abruptly, nearly skipping towards the living room.

"What did she say?" John flipped down next to Sherlock, lifting his legs onto Sherlock, lounging down, milking out knowing that he knew something that Sherlock didn't.

"Where did you and Hamish go?"

"Out, John. The case?"

"Out where?" John kept his voice innocent, and bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

"John, are we going to have a meaningless conversation about nonsense, or are you going to let me do my job?" Sherlock's short temper was showing.

"Get my computer."

"I'm not interested in reading any poetry, John."

"No, I took down what she wrote."

"Oh."

"Wait, what did you mean about the poetry." Sherlock smirked, and lunged for John's computer.

_Okay, so I was going to write about what the case was in this chapter, but I couldn't think of a case. Also, I kind of think that I'm on a downward spiral and I have no idea what I'm going to write about, especially for the cases. I am going to have Hamish age along with the cases. I think for every major age, of Hamish, there will be a case, or something along those lines. I, thank all of you that have read my writing, since at these moments I am trying to get over some writers block, and therefore my writing is concise. This chapter was also mostly dialogue because i have no idea what I'm doing nor where I am doing this. Guh,_

_Thanks chickadees, Kat_


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